


Sick

by alixinsanity



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alixinsanity/pseuds/alixinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov get's sent back to his quarters by Kirk, when the Captain realized the ensign was sick. Bones comes to look after the Russian teen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick

Chekov sneezed into the sleeve of his gold shirt, groaning as he felt the ache in his chest sharpen at the action. The Russian teen had barely made it onto the bridge and sat down in his usual seat at the helm, before the captain had looked at him ordering in a no-arguments tone, “Mr Chekov, if you would please head back to your quarters, I will send Bones up to you immediately.”

The “Keptin I iz all vell,” would have supported the navigators claims, if it wasn’t for the sneeze that broke the sentence apart. Receiving only a raised eyebrow in response, Chekov couldn’t help but sigh as he slowly made his way out of the bridge; the lethargy spreading through his tiny body made every step he took feel like a mile. It had taken him twice as long as usual just to get to the bridge that morning, leaving him late for the start of his shift, and the Russian was not looking forward to what he knew would be another long walk back to his quarters. 

 

Chekov didn’t know how long it took him to get back to his room, or how long it had been since he fell onto his bed face-first into his unmade covers, pulling them around him in a cocoon. That had been the first sign of just how unwell the Russian felt; he liked to keep his room clean and organized, and not making his bed was a sure sign that something wasn’t right. The Russian teen stayed wrapped in his self-made cocoon, slowly teetering on the edge of sleep when he heard the familiar whish of a sliding door opening. Barely managing to push himself off a few inches of the bed to see who had entered, Chekov realised as soon as he sat himself up that the person at the door would be the ship’s doctor; only three other people on the ship had access to his personal chambers, Sulu, Kirk, and McCoy.

“Damn it kid. You look like hell’s decided to take up residence in you…”

 

“I now know vhy ze keptin zays your bedzide manner is awful,” Chekov mumbled into his sheets occasionally stopping due to a fit of sneezes, his Russian accent thickened with his illness. The young navigator pulled his hand out from underneath the sheets, reaching it out towards where Bones stood on the opposite side of the room, “Leo…” The soft whimper of his name was all it took for the doctor to rush over towards the Russian; one hand held his tricoder, whilst the other began gently running through Chekov’s curls.

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt ill Pasha,” Bones asked gently, as the tricoder beeped as it reached its diagnostic;  the slight hypochondria that had been running through the doctor’s head as soon as Kirk messaged him telling him that Chekov was ill, slowly diminished as he realised that the teen was only suffering from a bad common cold.  McCoy mentally slapped himself for not being professional, letting his emotions and relationship with the Russian teen get in the way of his ‘doctor-mode’ as Jim liked to call it just to wind him up.

“Didn’t vant to vorry you.” Bones pressed a soft kiss against Chekov’s hot forehead at the navigator’s words, quickly using the touch as a distraction to inject some medication into the side of the teen’s neck. Chekov yelped slightly at the bite of the needle; Kirk was right, it didn’t matter how much McCoy cared about a person, the doctor wasn’t going to go slow when it came to needles. ‘Better to do it quick than piss about prolonging it,’ Bones had snapped at the captain one day after he had surprised Jim, by injecting him on the bridge when he was looking in the opposite direction and having a conversation with Spock.

 

“Sorry. It’s my job to worry about you Chekov… It’s also my job to look after the sick, I am a doctor.” McCoy pulled the duvet back off the Russian teen, ignoring the soft whimper that Chekov let out at the loss of the warmth. “I’ll wrap you back up in it, in a minute Pasha,” Bones couldn’t help but smile despite the situation, for although it looked like the navigator had dropped straight into their bed without even removing his shoes; Chekov had found one of McCoy’s hoodies that the doctor wore as part of his casual wardrobe, and had put that on over the top of his yellow shirt.

The sight of the teen in the oversized piece of clothing reminded Bones of the time that the teen had woken up late for his shift, grabbing the first shirt off the floor, pulling it on without even looking at it; Chekov had walked around in McCoy’s blue science shirt for nearly two hours before he realized. By the time the teen realized, Bones had joined them on the bridge, having to listen to Kirk friendly teasing the Russian, making Chekov blush at the occasional lewd joke that fell from the captain’s lips. Bones was glad at that point he was a doctor, as he used his medical expertise to calculate just how hard he could hit Jim around the back of the head without causing any injury, using the knowledge every time his closest friend made a joke about his and Chekov’s relationship; Kirk wasn’t stupid, he knew what was going on between the young ensign and his best friend before the incident with the wrong shirt, but it didn’t stop him being the reason most of the ship quickly found out.

Bones smiled at the memory of Chekov in the medical shirt, smiling wider as he once again stared at the navigator in his hoodie, before gently pulling off the Russians shoes. He knew that the medicine that he had injected Chekov with would make him feel better, but it didn’t stop him wanting to make the Russian teen as comfortable as possible until the medicine fully worked.  Dropping the shoes into a messy pile on the floor, quickly removing his own at the same time; McCoy knew that he was going to get playfully moaned at about leaving things in a mess on the floor as soon as Chekov was feeling better, but for now all he wanted to do was curl up behind the Russian teen, and simply hold him. Pulling the duvet back up over the top of the teen, Bones crawled in next to him, arms instantly wrapping around Chekov’s thin waist. The ensign quickly inched backwards into the warmth of McCoy’s body, purring softly as he muttered softly in Russian.

“люблю тебя”

“I know, I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously Bones/ Chekov is like my new OTP. 
> 
> I wanted to make a sick:Chekov fic just for the feels. So enjoy


End file.
